


opportunist

by fizzjam



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7174856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzjam/pseuds/fizzjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"it almost feels like a joke to play out the part when you are not the starring role in someone else's heart." - marina and the diamonds, "starring role"</p>
            </blockquote>





	opportunist

**Author's Note:**

> lapselocked and supremely unbeta'd.
> 
> loosely based on starring role by marina and the diamonds, and written for a friend who encourages me when really what i probably need is someone to slap my hands away and tell me to go do my real grown-up chores.
> 
> part of my initiative for mary-sue reader 2k16 because i'm trash and no one can stop me. enjoy pls and if you feel kind enough to leave me constructive criticism, please do so.

you wonder sometimes what you’re doing here.

here, in this bed, in this apartment, in this situation, in this life.

(sometimes you pretend you’re above all this existential bullshit but given your propensity for making shit life choices you know in your heart of hearts that you’re not.)

in the wee hours of the morning when sleep is elusive, all there is to do is think, try to pinpoint precisely the moment that things really started to go downhill, while next to you, yugyeom sleeps, blissfully unaware of just how troubled you are. but that’s nothing new; through either sheer force of will or ignorance, yugyeom manages to miss a lot of things that trouble you. which is fine—it isn’t like you divulge with him the nature of your problems anyway.

it’s how it goes. again, you try and pinpoint the exact moment things went to shit, but you always come back to the same answer: before it ever started, when yugyeom used to stare at you like you were the most lovely thing he’d ever seen, when you found delight in almost shyly touching pinkies with him in public. even in the excitement of new passion, you were planning for its inevitable end.

and now here you are. a self-fulfilling prophecy, you think bitterly, and there are a few hazy, dreamy seconds where you wonder what it would’ve been like if you’d just let go and loved for once rather than calculating forty steps ahead of everyone else.

somewhere in this train of thought, you finally fall asleep.

(and you realize in the morning that it was only when yugyeom finally got up to use the restroom; you can’t even sleep when he’s in the same bed and it’s not nearly as sickening as you’d thought it’d be).

\--

there are still happy moments, sometimes, when you and your insignificant other hit the bottles, and then things are rosy, as things always are through beer goggles, and you can still find it in yourself to kiss and giggle and act like there’s still something worth salvaging in this relationship. the kisses are sloppy, all tongue, so much saliva it’s halfway down your chin, and wafting clouds of booze breath carry little affections, like he means them (and maybe he does, somewhere deep inside him, but you’re only just drunk enough not to question it), and you’re arguably happy.

but drinking only has one end, with no deviation: as soon as his hands find the buttons of your blouse, it’s game over, and the evening of blissful inebriated ignorance ends again in insomnia until yugyeom leaves the bed long enough for you to finally fall asleep. through the soup-thick fog you consider putting a stop to it, ending the cycle, but that same thought dissolves into desperation, to feel something other than contempt towards yugyeom, to be happy, if only for a little while.

you’re weak, and whether it’s for yugyeom or for you, is utterly irrelevant.

“i love you,” he mutters against your mouth as his fingers find your hipbones over your skirt, and you just smile serenely and sigh. there was a time he probably meant that, but now it’s salt in an open wound, playing pretend, because it becomes so much easier once alcohol is involved. you mutter a reply, but it only halfway comes out before his mouth is on yours again, hot and insistent and sharp like the high-end vodka on his breath. he’s too drunk to kiss and you’re too drunk to care, so it’s a melted mass of lips and tongue, going at each other until his fumbling fingers finally find the underwire of your bra. you gasp so hard you almost choke on it, your focus momentarily shifting from nebulous to razor-sharp, acutely aware of what you’re doing, where you are, and just how utterly fucked this is.

you have to end this, you have to, you and yugyeom cannot go on like this—

his thumbs find your nipples through the lace of your bra and it’s like everything gives underneath you, and you’re back in that muddled space the alcohol provides. whatever good intentions you had, they’re gone now; you want this endgame now that you know it’s coming. after an intense week of fighting and tearing each other down, it’s the least you deserve.

(maybe. there is a small, fed-up voice inside you that insists you don’t even deserve that.)

teasing touches over the lace aren’t enough and you readily tell him so with your grappling hands, taking his and shoving them beneath the underwire with all the finesse of a club-legged gazelle so that he can palm your breasts in earnest and you can stop thinking so much when all you want to do is feel. he gropes you as if he has all the time in the world and you hate it, because he needs to feel the same burning desire you do, the same surging desperation. when he’s slow like this, it’s almost like he genuinely cares, and suddenly there’s a hefty power imbalance; yugyeom now has something he can hold over you, his _feelings_ , and you can’t have that. you know better, but even perceived moral superiority is more than you can bear.

so you go for the grab, reach down and press the bulk of your palm up against his growing erection and demand a response that’s just as needy as yours, and it’s the catalyst you need. his fingers dig into your flesh and that edge of pain is just right, as is the growl against your mouth, and you revel in the feeling of letting go as his hips find yours and he effectively pins you up against the wall of the living room. “yes,” you breathe, goading him on with a sneer, “stop fucking around and _fuck me_.”

yugyeom is predictable. the challenge is more than enough to set him off and he’s practically tearing at his slacks, so hard you’re surprised the button doesn’t fly off from the strain he places on the thread holding it in place. you almost reach out to help, but before you can, he’s pulling his briefs and slacks down in one go, and you’re rewarded with the tantalizing site of yugyeom grasping his cock to stroke once. your brain effervesces; all you can think about is the familiar burning stretch of penetration and everything becomes a means to that end. his hands are at your breasts again, but yours are at your skirt, lifting it in invitation for him to give you want you want. one of his hands moves, slides between your legs to push your panties aside and give you a rough stroke up the length of your cunt.

the look on his face, one of smug satisfaction, makes your skin crawl. “already this wet for me, baby?” god, you hate it when he calls you that; it feels so forced and disgusting now. “i bet you were expecting this.” it’s almost enough to douse the hot ache between your thighs entirely. you don’t want his stupid dirty talk, you just want him to shut up and fuck you, why is this such a hard concept to understand?

“shut the fuck up,” you snarl, reaching across to grab him by the boner again, this time much more menacingly than before. “that’s about all you’re good for these days-- fucking, so if you can’t even do that, why don’t you just leave?”

he goes quiet. for a long, torturous moment, you think you successfully ended this relation _shit_.

“is that why you keep me around?” he asks, and the instant his gaze meets yours, the fire in the pit of your stomach is at a rolling boil. “to fuck that pretty cunt of yours?”

“yeah, it is—you sure as fuck don’t stimulate me emotionally.”

one sure movement and his fingers are inside you, curling and pressing so hard against your g-spot that your knees buckle and the only thing holding you up is his body. “it’s fitting—your cunt is the only thing pretty about you.” _yes,_ you think, suddenly drunk on more than just booze, giving his cock a rough squeeze as his free hand ends up around your throat, _finally_.

when his hand tightens and your airflow is restricted, even the little bit it is, you clench reflexively around his fingers and claw at the hand around your throat (like he’s hurting you, but he’s not; this has never happened before and you’re both frightened and more aroused than you’ve ever been before), giving him another harsh squeeze in hopes of breaking those last thin threads of resolve he has.

“what are you going to do about it?”you manage to get out that sentence by the skin of your teeth as his hand tightens a fraction, and all hell breaks loose. he smacks your hand away from his cock and positions himself before he pushes inside in one smooth thrust, giving you no chance to adjust, and the familiar aching stretch is so perfect, so comforting, and makes all of the bullshit it took to get here worth it.

“i’ll use you for the only thing you’re good for, just like you use me.”

when he moves, he does so with contempt, making sure to be as rough as possible, to press his knees up against your legs as he pulls back, using you for leverage and it hurts but you’re too focused on the drag of his cock against your slick cunt to care. he shoves back in so hard that his hand presses up against your windpipe and for a second you really do choke, but he’s pulling back before you can really feel the full effect. this is the pace he sets, fucking you so hard he rams into you bodily, uncaring for you or what you want, and somehow that makes it even better.

all of the pretenses are gone, all the pretending is done; you’re both fucking for the sake of fucking and admitting it feels so good that you’re all too happy to put up with the rough treatment.

you babble at him in between pressure on your trachea, demanding more, telling him to do what you keep him around to do, and each scathing remark earns a tighter hand around your throat and a firmer thrust the next time he drives home, until he’s hoisted you off the floor with a hand on your ass and has you gurgling with his hand around your throat.

orgasm rolls in like a freight train at full speed when you least expect it, glorious and searing hot, knocking the wind out of you, but he doesn’t stop even when you relax against the wall, soft and malleable like clay in his hands. he keeps going, chasing his own end, and by the time he gets there, you’re sensitive and so close to a second one that you aren’t sure if you want it or not. he comes with a guttural growl, one you feel so deep it vibrates in your bones, and then his fingers are on your clit rubbing fiercely, right on top of it, pressing hard and fast until he rips another orgasm from you and this time you shriek from the intensity of it, shaking as you ride it out before sagging against him and the wall and hanging between him and it limply.

you feel everything acutely coming down. the drag of his skin and fabric against your skin, his release making a mess of your thighs as he pulls out (and you shudder; you’re almost positive he’d done so slowly to make sure you felt every last inch of him leaving you), the uncontrollable shake of your extremities. when he disengages fully to clean himself up, you don’t go with him, instead wobbling on your jelly legs before collapsing in a heap on the wood floor and trying hard to catch your breath.

it terrifies you a little that easily that was the best sex you’d ever had, with yugyeom or anyone else. part of you thinks that something that borders on hatesex shouldn’t be this satisfying.

yugyeom moves and you follow his trek out of the room with your gaze, because it takes an extra few moments to scrape yourself off the floor and stumble to the bathroom to shower off. you take your time in there, trying to unravel the tangled mass of inebriated thoughts, but eventually the water runs cold and you finally leave and dry yourself off, pulling on something comfortable to sleep in before crawling into bed.

you realize yugyeom isn’t with you only as you’re on the cusp of sleep, and you’re far too tired to wonder where he is or if he’s even coming back.

\--

jaebum is yugyeom’s best friend.

jaebum shows up at your apartment the next morning, barging his way in with coffee and friendly concern or something like it, because your interactions with him are typically made through short texts asking him if he knows where yugyeom is, or if he can have yugyeom call you, or when yugyeom’s around to act as a buffer. the fact that he came to see you specifically means something is wrong.

shit. you’re too hung over to handle this even as he pumps you full of caffeine and breakfast burritos.

“so what happened last night?” he asks, wasting no time as he stands in front of you with a look just menacing enough to get you to eat your breakfast. you wonder if you can fake choking on eggs long enough to make him leave or forget why he came. “he showed up at my place, drunk and really pissed off.”

you wince, and quietly wish he’d fallen asleep in the mouth of a storm drain instead. “we had a fight,” you say simply, even though your normal fights don’t end in yugyeom spending the night at someone else’s place. “we do that a lot, you know that—we get drunk and duke it out.” you shove the rest of your burrito in your mouth and take your time chewing. maybe you’ll choke on it before he expects another answer.

“not like this, you don’t.”

briefly you wish yugyeom had stupid friends.

you finish chewing and, much to your chagrin, don’t choke. before answering, you guzzle half your coffee and burn your mouth.

“you aren’t stupid, jaebum, you know our relationship has been rocky lately—last night it just got extra rocky. whatever, it happens—he’ll come back, we’ll have make-up sex, and then everything will be normal again.”

the look he gives you is one of… probably contempt? jaebum is a hard read on a good day.

“so what, that’s it? you’re both just going to fall into this same pattern again and again? you’re both better than that. you know that as well as i do.” rather than being touched by his concern, you’re irritated; you didn’t ask him to come play therapist with you and you’re almost positive that you don’t want his help.

“this is none of your fucking business—if and when yugyeom wants to try and make up, he knows where to find me. otherwise, take your coffee and get out.” you throw the foil wrapper from your burrito at him and promptly turn to leave the kitchen, ignoring the way your head throbs in protest at the sharp movement.

“stop,” he says, so authoritatively, so full of conviction, that you do; you’ve never heard jaebum address you or anyone like that before and it scares you a little. even more terrifying, he closes the distance between the two of you, until he’s almost right behind you. you don’t want to turn around. you don’t want to see what he looks like when he’s talking to you like this.

he makes the decision for you, turning you around and holding your gaze with his own, so intense it makes your heart leap up into your throat.

“is this what you’re going to do? keep him around just for the sake of fucking him?”

he… doesn’t seem angry about that. you’ve got to be imagining things, because he seems jealous, and that’s…

you take the easy way out. “do you want him? you can have him. after last night, i’m pretty sure you’d treat him better than i would.”

jaebum sees right through you and you kind of want to disappear or throw up on him and make him leave. considering your stomach’s in knots, churning uneasily, the latter seems totally doable. “that’s not what i’m getting at.”

“—no,” you say, firmly, emphatically, “shut up and stop it, just because i’m about to end this relationship doesn’t mean you can be an opportunistic—”

“also not what i’m getting at.”

you want him to not look at you like he’s about to eat you alive. “then what?”

the silence is deafening, so loud it’s like it fills the empty spaces in your head.

“it’s a shame yugyeom met you first.”

the world comes to a screeching halt and you feel like you’ve just run face-first into bulletproof glass. your limbs shake. this isn’t happening. “no,” you breathe, again, unable to stop yourself, “you can’t be serious. you _aren’t_ serious.”

the look on his face effectively communicates otherwise and for an intense second, you think you may throw up on him regardless of whether or not it’s your plan to do so. _this isn’t happening_.

before you can even piece yourself back together and ask him what the fuck kind of confession this is, he’s disengaging, moving towards the front door. you just watch him, stupefied, unable to process the reality of the situation as it happens.

“you have choices to make now, so give it some thought. you know where to find me, and yugyeom.”

he’s gone, just like that, out the door and it’s closed behind him, and you’re still in a daze, wondering what the hell just happened. this is a joke, it has to be, because yugyeom’s best friend had just indirectly confessed and you’re left with only one coherent thought.

“he’s still an opportunistic piece of shit.”

\--

you show up at jaebum’s apartment regardless, but you’re not sure who you want to see.

this is too fucked to be real, and you’re too confused to process it properly, so when jaebum opens the door, you’re at a loss for what to say.

“are you looking for yugyeom?” he asks, and again, you aren’t sure. honestly, you kind of want to break down crying there in the hall just to get it out of the way. are you looking for him? do you want to still try at this shitty relationship?

“…i’m not,” you say finally, meeting his gaze hesitantly. before you can even catch up with the speed your brain’s flying, you’re speaking again. “what you said earlier… did you mean it?” part of you hopes he doesn’t. maybe you’d misread the whole situation, and there was no real confession or anything and he’d just convinced you to come and scrape your stupid boyfriend off the couch.

“i did,” he says, effortlessly, like he’s been waiting for forever to say that to someone who’d listen, and it terrifies you. “does that bother you?”

bother isn’t the right word for it. you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since that morning and it still feels weird and dreamlike. for the sake of less complicated matters, you wish this really was a dream. but no, it doesn’t bother you; the fact that jaebum apparently has some degree of feelings for you, that he’s interested enough to apparently risk telling you in the midst of a fight with his best friend, this… is all strangely pleasing, and not in the flattered by the attention way.

shit, you think miserably, you’re interested in seeing where this might lead, and it’s gonna make shit way more complicated than necessary.

“how… long?” you give him a miserable look, trying not to look as defeated as you feel. this is almost too much to process.

“since he introduced us.” the confidence with which he says it makes your cheeks burn. why the fuck is this even happening? why didn’t he tell you before?

“you’re still an opportunistic asshole,” you tell him, but it lacks your typical vitriolic conviction, and jaebum is unfazed, shrugging your criticism off.

“i’m tired of seeing you both miserable. maybe if i shake it up a little, things change,” he says softly, but surely, holding your gaze the whole time, until you break it to look away and try and piece yourself back into working order. it’s sunk in now, this is happening for real, but everything still feels surreal.

and finally, it all comes down to one question you realized you’d meant to ask that morning: “ _why?_ ”

why you? why now? why _any of this?_

“why not?”

you look at him, utterly incredulous and at a loss. “because i’m awful, because i see the end in every beginning, and see no point in fighting for something that once made me happy. who’s to say you won’t end up like yugyeom, just around to be fucked?”

at that, he smiles, and you’re surprised to find your chest full of butterflies. has his smile always been this handsome?

“i’ve always liked a challenge.”

in your stupor, you don’t see him coming until he’s on you, pressing desperate kisses to your mouth, and you’re winded all at once. yugyeom has never kissed you like this, like he hopes to pull your soul up through your mouth and consume it piece by piece, and you’re terrified all over again. jaebum possesses a passion you’ve never before experienced, ever, and part of you is convinced you’re utterly unprepared for it.

but he doesn’t give you time to think. you’re beginning to realize that jaebum has the uncanny ability to see right through you and you wonder briefly if he’s ever dealt with hot messes like you before.

“i’ve waited so long to tell you all of that—you can’t even imagine.” the confession busts through your chest and leaves you shaking, so much so that you pull back and try to understand how it is that you got here. the night before, you were tearing yourself and yugyeom apart yet again, and now—

_yugyeom._

you jump away from him, panic-stricken and suddenly acutely aware of where you are and what you’re doing. “yugyeom—he’s here. i need—i need to talk to him, before i… before we—” your thoughts are a jumble and again you can’t help but think that jaebum is an opportunistic asshole (but maybe one whose heart is in the right place, if only a little).

“he left,” jaebum replies smoothly, drawing you back in with his fingers in your blouse and his alluring mouth, “said he needed to clear his head. don’t know when he’ll be back.” his lips are so close to yours that you’re sharing breaths, and it’s all you can do not to stand there and shake like a leaf beneath the weight of indecision and desire.

“we shouldn’t…” you whisper, the last threadbare remains of your resolve burning up beneath the heat of his mouth almost on yours.

“probably not.” but he kisses you anyway, again, and the air vacates your lungs and leaves you reeling. it’s just that for a moment—close proximity and soft kisses—but then your tongue is at the seam of his mouth and the noise he makes is so full of desire that you shiver bodily. he pulls you inside, out of the hall, and pins you up against the door, but it isn’t like last night; it’s like he can’t get close enough to you, wants to sink beneath your skin and feel the frantic beating of your heart right up against the muscle.

for the first time in what feels like millennia, you’re scared. you can’t remember the last time someone wanted you this much, and you’re beginning to realize the feeling’s mutual. jaebum opened the door and now that you stumbled through it, you have no desire to go back, only to keep moving forward, until something stops you.

and maybe, not even then.

the rigid lines of his body are firm against yours, keeping you from collapsing underneath the weight of the swell of emotion threatening to drown you beneath it. this is… unfamiliar territory.

“are you sure you want me?” you ask between wet kisses, pupils blown open wide and eyes hazy. you still can’t believe it. jaebum can’t possibly know what he’s getting himself into.

“positive,” he answers evenly, without even a hint of doubt, and you have to wonder where all of this is coming from, how you didn’t notice sooner. but he takes your lower lip between his teeth and the thought ceases to matter. you just want more, everything he’s willing to give, until the weird tumultuous ache inside is dulled and the waterfall behind your eyes finally stops.

he takes his time: kisses across your jaw, down your neck, maps erogenous zones with his mouth and fingers. he lingers behind your ears and over your pulse, traces the curve of your breasts and the slope of your hips, slow and meticulous. by the time he’s untucking your blouse from your pants, you’re panting and on edge, ready for him to reach the endgame already, but one look in his eyes and you know that he’s nowhere near finished. again you’re in unfamiliar territory, unused to sex being anything but a means to an end.

you help him pull your blouse over your head and off, and he takes his time to run his hands across your bare skin—over your shoulders and arms, down the length of your spine and across your stomach, and you’re unsure if you’ve ever really had anyone touch you so reverently before. before you can voice your anxious discomfort, jaebum kisses you again, slowly, taking his time to give your lower lip a gentle tug before coaxing your tongue into his mouth to apply gentle pressure with his teeth and suck. the small action leaves you utterly breathless, on your toes awaiting more, and he gives it to you in spades.

before you can help him with your bra, your pants go, slowly, removed painstakingly, and he kisses down your thighs as he goes, until he can stop and stroke across the backs of your knees with his fingers. the sensation is electric, making you gasp above him, and as you step out of your pants, it’s difficult to keep standing with jittery legs. but he holds you steady, and you await with bated breath what he’ll do next.

you expect him to stand back up and finish this, but he instead looks up at you, eyes scorching hot as he pulls your panties down over your hips, and your breath stalls in your throat because despite your brief experience with this sort of thing, you know precisely what he intends to do and you panic.

“y-you don’t have to, god, you don’t—don’t feel obligated or anything,” you whisper urgently, pulling your knees together and making a pitiful attempt to keep your panties above your knees. you avoid his burning gaze and leave one hand around the fabric of your panties while the other covers your pubic mound, like even his line of sight in the general direction is too much attention.

he simply smiles up at you patiently, easing your fingers from around your panties and gently pushing your hand aside and pressing a kiss to the inside of each wrist. this does a little to ease your mind, but he’s still too close, still too—too—

“i want to,” he says simply, “i feel absolutely no obligation to do anything.” you try to relax—you believe him—but you’re used to having the rug pulled out from beneath you, _favors_ like this being banked and used to guilt you later, but the sincerity in his eyes is disarming and you nod, relaxing just enough to let him continue. your panties drop around our ankles and he eases your legs apart, leaning in to use his thumbs to spread you open for his perusal.

all of his touching has you soaked and normally it doesn’t bother you, but bared under his gaze, you feel defenseless, even more so when he leans in to give you one firm lick along the flushed length of your cunt, ending with a firm flick against your engorged clitoris and the feeling has you gasping all over again, loud, sharp, and desperate. it’s already too much; the second stroke of his tongue is even more intense, made more so again when he groans against you. that’s all it takes, and he laps at you in earnest now in long, broad strokes, meant to taste you as much as it is anything else, and the realization knocks the air right out of you entirely. he wants this, wants to experience your taste on his tongue, and it’s completely and utterly disarming and it’s all you can do to keep yourself from moaning so loud that the neighbors come try and check on you.

his pace is even and without pause, mapping you out with the tip of his tongue until you’re literally begging for release, somewhere between desire and a strange feeling of anxiety, like he’s been down there too long, like he’ll realize how _wrong_ he is about you from the taste of you alone. but his pace doesn’t alter; instead he strokes at your hipbone reverently as he shifts his attention to your clit almost exclusively. the constant stimulation destroys the last of the coherent thought you have, and all you do is babble, plead for orgasm and for him to not stare so intensely, in case he finally sees what a lost cause you really are.

at that, the world shifts; he’s suddenly aggressive, taking your hot pearl between his lips and sucking despite your vehement pleas to stop, it’s too much. in the same breath you praise him and it’s not even ten seconds before you’re coming so hard your thighs shake from the force of it. he still licks gently at you, cleaning you up, and blessedly he avoids your clit until he pulls away.

“i know exactly what i’m in for,” he says, his lips and chin slick with your arousal, and you can’t even look at him without flushing all the way down your collarbones. how does he get to you so easily? he stands and you waste no time, reaching down to palm him through his pants and he groans and this, _this_ is your comfort zone and you are so ready for this.

but he stops you, takes you gently by the wrist again and leans in to kiss you, your taste still heavy on his mouth and it’s arguably the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced. “maybe later,” he says, “right now, i just want… i’ve been waiting too long, and you’re right here—”

for the first time since your arrival, jaebum shows genuine vulnerability, proof he’s just as affected as you, and it’s more than enough to melt your resolve. wordlessly, you nod, taking a moment to breathe deep as he pulls away from the door, enough for you to walk after him without stumbling over yourself. he moves towards the couch against the opposite wall, releasing your hand to shuck his pants and boxers in one movement, and the sight of him flushed and hard makes you almost salivate.

this is happening. all over again, it feels surreal, like you’re fourteen and seeing _videodrome_ for the first time, and for a moment all you can do is look at him.

“we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says, perfectly composed, and you think you might be in over your head if you’re already this smitten with him.

“i want to,” you tell him sincerely, nodding (more to yourself than him) as you take a step closer to him. he leans in to kiss you once, briefly, before he shifts and lies down on the couch, motioning for you to position yourself atop him. you take a moment to admire him, looking from his flushed cheeks to his soft lips, down to his sturdy erection, and it’s like you’re _seeing_ him for the first time, really seeing him, as the person he is and not yugyeom’s best friend that you occasionally associate with.

you crawl over him, leaning down to kiss him eagerly and messily, pouring yourself into that kiss, letting him know that the interest is reciprocated, and that’s all he needs to help you position yourself over him, waiting for him to position his cock at your entrance before sinking down on him, slowly, savoring the feeling of his girth stretching you open. it’s different this time, especially when he grabs onto your hands and holds them, uses them to support you as you settle your knees on the couch cushions for better leverage and start rocking against him slowly.

the sensation of being stretched tight around his thick cock, the tip of him pressed up against your cervix, makes it difficult to breathe and think, even more so to move, so your pace is slow and deliberate, meant to give you a chance to adjust even as you want more, want to feel the smooth friction of his cock against your greedy walls, and it’s that thought that has you moving faster.

“shit, you’re tight,” he breathes, lacing your fingers together as you ride him in earnest, “like you’re sucking me in, like you never want me to leave.” your face flushes and your pace falters, fingertips digging into his knuckles as you lean forward to pin his hands next to his head. but he shifts, takes his hands back to help him sit up and leans in to kiss the length of the valley of your breasts before pulling the lace cups of your bra down to pull a taut nipple into his mouth. the sensation is electric, amplifying the aching throb between your thighs, making you clench tight around him and the noise he makes is perfect, equal parts desire and helplessness.

“want you to come,” he breathes against your skin, wrapping an arm around your waist to help him thrust up into you, “are you gonna come for me again? gonna cream all over my cock, baby?” this time it doesn’t feel patronizing, doesn’t feel like he’s trying to get a rise out of you or trying to exert control over you. jaebum is different.

“need help, please, need you to—”

without even finishing your sentence, he slips his hand between your bodies, down to trace the folds of your penetrated entrance, up to your throbbing clit to stroke, slowly at first. it’s enough to spur you onwards, to ride him despite your stuttering hips, despite the way his cock slides across your g-spot with every instroke, and release is so close, you can feel it clinging to the end of your toes, right there. he seems to notice, because his pace goes from cautious to aggressive in no seconds flat, alternating between circular strokes and rubbing quickly, and blessedly, it’s enough to tip you over the edge.

you convulse around him, desperately sucking him in as you press down against him to keep him completely inside you as you gyrate your hips. his breathing stalls and his hips shake and you feel him come, hard, moving as best he can given the close proximity to ride through it and help you through yours. it’s a long and intense moment, feels like you’re being pulled though the eye of a needle, and once you’re on the other side of it, you feel melted and malleable, something for jaebum to mold as he holds you in his warm hands and eases you down on top of him, keeping the movement to a minimum for the sake of sensitivity on both ends.

at first, it’s quiet. the reality of what you’ve done sets in, and what’s worse, you don’t feel absolutely terrible about it.

“… there’s another girl,” he says softly, and at first, you think he’s talking about _his_ girlfriend and you’ve just aided him in cheating, and the thought mortifies you. how could he have--?! “yugyeom, he met her—they’ve just been talking but… there’s something there. he wants to tell you.”

oh, thank god. that, you can handle. it stings a little—you still love yugyeom (despite not really being in love with him anymore), but that’s different. you’re the wounded party and you are in absolute control of how you feel about it and that makes it different.

“thank you for telling me—but i think i still want to hear it from him,” you say softly against his neck, stroking across his bicep with gentle, lazy fingers. “i think i suspected, honestly, but… i dunno. at least i know he can still be happy and i haven’t sucked all the joy out of his life entirely.” jaebum laughs and you feel it more than you hear it, the shaking of his chest against your body.

“if you need me to be there with you…”

the thought is sweet. jaebum is unlike anyone you’ve ever had interested in you before.

“no, it’s fine,” you tell him confidently, “thank you, though.” you lift yourself up just enough to look at him, but can’t help but wince at the drag of his soft cock against your tender cunt. “there is, however, one thing you can do for me.”

his eyes are alight with desire. you think you can ask him for anything and he’d give it to you.

“name it and it’s yours.”

you offer him a lopsided grin. “let me cook you dinner tomorrow night?”


End file.
